


Only The Devil Knows

by Amaria_Anna_D



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/pseuds/Amaria_Anna_D
Summary: Written for thefratt-ernityhouse AU art prompts week challengeFrank Castle is a small town sheriff with a bit of a devil problem. Why is it that he has the sneaking suspicion that the blind man making brooms knows more about the notorious bandit than anyone else?





	Only The Devil Knows

“This is the fourth time this month!” Fisk spat angrily as he paced in Frank’s tiny office. The rancher had never been a favorite of the sheriff’s so Frank wasn’t all that sorry to see the fat man with his feather’s ruffled. After not getting the response he wanted from the lawman, Fisk slammed a beefy fist down on Frank’s desk right next to his crossed boots. “I thought your place in this town was to restore order and justice?”

With a heavy sigh, Frank slid his feet off the desk. “Look, Mr. Fisk, I’ve gathered three posses, searched the canyons and every possible hiding place for damn near ten miles, and even sent a man or two to go along with your own men on these supply runs of yours. I’m not sure what else you expect me to do,” he murmured in annoyance. “Your masked man is crafty enough to earn the name the locals gave him. Hell, he’s got some men convinced he may actually be the Devil.”

“I thought you were some sort of detective when you lived back East?” Frisk demanded through gritted teeth. ‘Shouldn’t you be looking for clues.”

Frank snorted. “Mr, Fisk, I have better things to do with my day than chase your devils, and being that this particular one isn’t bothering anyone else but you… I’d say I had better spend my time working on  _real_ problems.”

“This isn’t over,” Frisk growled. He snatched his hat from the peg so hard that the felt crumpled in his huge hand. Frank took a little satisfaction in the face that the man was so incensed that he’d probably ruined a five dollar hat.

Not long after Fisk had left, there was a gentle knock on the door. The young blonde that strode into the door smiled at him sweetly. “Afternoon, sheriff,” Miss Page greeted. She held out a basket covered in a loose towel. “Ham, black-eyed peas, and cornbread today. And I brought a mason jar full of that sweet tea you like.”

“Kind of you,” Frank said with a nod. He actually hated sweet tea almost as much as he hated the look of admiration that shone in the girl’s big, blue eyes. Deputy Nelson liked both sweet tea and sweet women; Frank dearly wished the girl would twitch her tail that direction instead.

Frank at the meal with gusto and ignored the mason jar of tea. He didn’t bother with fancy manners in the jailhouse usually, and if his boorish  habits offended the lady, well that was just as well. Thankfully, she excused herself as he was sopping up the juices from his plate with his cornbread. He tossed the dishes in the basket and dumped the tea in the chamber pot to be disposed of later.

With his meal over with, he took his daily walk around the town. Despite the name Hell’s Kitchen and one lone bandit, the little map dot was a quiet place. It was a damned lot less hustle and bustle than where he’d come from in New York. The war had taken Frank South, but it was the quiet that drew him West. All in all, Frank tipped his hat maybe a dozen times as he made his way nearly the whole length and breadth of the town. He liked it that way.

On his way back up the boarded walk, Frank caught sight of a familiar form taking up a spot between the telegraph office and jailhouse. A blind man sat weaving together the ends of twine around a broom with quick, practiced hands. Matt Murdock was something halfway between the town charity case and everyone’s favorite resident. The man was no beggar, but his lot in life was a poor one, to be sure. He made his living selling brooms and occasionally offering up intricately carved boxes in the general store. What he did with his money, aside from what he spent to keep himself clothed and fed was a mystery. He bedded down in the old Spanish church at the far end of town, and Frank had never seen the man with anything aside from the clothes on his back and the smoked glasses that obscured his eyes. Still, despite his circumstances, he was beloved by the locals. Murdock seemed to have a smile for everyone and a kind word always perched on his lips.

It was those lips that made Frank uncomfortable. Well, those and the talented fingers that never stilled. In his deepest thoughts, Frank often wondered what those lips and those hands could do besides smile and make brooms.

“Sheriff,” Murdock said with a wide grin, cocking his head almost to the proper place.

“Hot day out here, Murdock. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable under in the shade out in front of the store? I’m sure Mr. Ulrich won’t mind you settin’ yourself up there,” Frank suggested–not for the first time either. He’d been subtly and not so subtly trying to shoo the man to a less under foot spot for nearly a year now.

“I like the sun on my face,” the blind man said simply. Of course, if the day was rainy he would have said the same about the drops coming down, or it if was windy or cloudy or any number of inclement weather conditions the answer wouldn't change much. He doubted even the unlikely event of a blizzard in Texas would send the broom maker away.

Frank sighed. “I think you’re just damned nosy.”

Murdock let out an intoxicating laugh. “Maybe, sheriff. Folks pass by here constantly. I got to hear about Miss Page hoping to get asked to the festival dance today. I even heard Mr. Fisk storming by here like a whole herd of cattle.”

“I don’t know if you know it or not, but Mr. Fisk practically is a whole herd of cattle,” Frank quipped.

“That didn’t escape even my notice.” Murdock’s smirk only got bigger. “You’d be surprised what a blind man can hear.”

Frank let out a skeptical harrumph. “Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything that could help with Devil huntin’?”

The movement was so small that Frank almost missed it, but Murdock’s lips twitched as they pressed into a serious line. “No, sir. All I know about the Devil comes from the gossips, and I doubt you’d believe that he dances naked in front of a full moon.”

“Don’t suppose I would,” Frank agreed. 

He was suddenly filled with a sneaking suspicion that Murdock knew a hell of a lot more about he bandit than he was letting on. He eyed the man closely for a moment more before heading into the jailhouse without so much as a parting word. There was something very canny about the blind man sitting outside. Maybe someday soon Frank would have to find out what. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to this art prompt: http://thefratt-ernityhouse.tumblr.com/post/162819491476/day-1-western-frattplease-re-post-with-the-tag


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